What went before ONE: All righty, then! Duty to the cats accomplished; walk walked; vacuuming and mopping done; grapes and cheese had for second breakfast; realized that every word I wrote yesterday is unnecessary, sigh, though the exercise did demonstrate what was necessary. Next up is my lunch, which will be a frozen box, because that's exactly how ambitious I'm feeling.

I did not put my latest embroidery into my book -- won't fit for one thing. Instead, I sewed it to the hoop and hung it in the bedroom, where I'll be able to see the Ribbons every day.

People want to know where I got the pattern, answering being "From a friend who was reducing her stash by increasing mine." But! If you search of "Tales from the Hoop" you will find the Etsy shop from which it was purchased.

Trooper nagged me for food throughout all of the above, and I did serve him, but he's not actually eating food today, just ordering it.

The weatherbeans that it's 82F outside and the AQI is 154. We are, yes, on Station Air.

This has been your mid-day check-in.

What went before TWO: I have no idea how many new words I wrote today. Somewhere north of 1,390, but since I had to frog a scene -- like I said: no idea.

The WIP entire now weighs in at +/-64,540.

In Other News, the page proofs for the anniversary edition of I Dare (first published by Meisha Merlin in February 2002) have landed and need to be back to the publisher by August 12. It's printing out even as I type this.

Word production on the WIP may slow somewhat. Also? Reading I Dare at this juncture is going to be Interesting in several ways.

I Dare of course was the seventh book of the seven book series Steve and I had initially intended to write, and is also the book that introduces Theo Waitley.

Good thing I bought ahead on Irish Breakfast Tea.

We have entered the Time-Space Continuum known as Coon Cat Happy Hour, so I'll be getting up to serve in a minute.

Trooper has begged for food constantly today, and rejects all but bisque. He has eaten three envelopes of bisque, so that's at least something. I am . . . not quite very worried. Not quite.

And on that note -- everybody stay safe.

I'll see you tomorrow.

What went before THREE: Oh, Skydance's conditions-of-sale guarantees actually helps me make sense of the farewell monologue from the host of After Midnight, in which she says she had honestly expected that the network would replace the host, not shut down the show. But the show's executive producer was Stephen Colbert, and the host was a female stand-up comic about whom I know nothing, but that is, honestly, Just Me. She seemed very genuine in her opening remarks, including the thanks to her team and her guests and educating the audience in exactly how much work goes into putting on a show every. single. day. She remarked several times that people had said she was the only person who could have pulled this show off, and that, no, there were many many talented people who could have done it, some of whom she had been certain would be tapped for her replacement. (To be clear: she had decided, after two years, to leave TV and go back to her True Calling, doing live Stand Up, so she tendered her resignation, believing she would be replaced as host.)

It's an interesting commentary. You can find it on Youtube.

But, Skydance! Skydance, as part of the conditions of sale has sworn to root out those in the former Paramount/CBS organization who are female, disabled, mean or sarcastic to little men with no souls, and abolish wokeness in all its flavors.

And, yanno, that's not scary at all.

Is it?

Sunday. Sunny, breezy, and not warm yet. My office windows are open for the cats, but I expect I'll have to go to Station Air mid-morning. We still stand, or, yanno, sit, beneath an Active Air Quality Alert. Apparently a Dark Plume of Particulates is extending itself over the region. Huzzah.

I slept for 7 hours and 44 minutes, it says here. Trooper did not smack me in the face, once. I attribute this miracle to sleeping with the covers pulled over my head, which was made possible by the cpap machine. Finally I find a good side to the damned device.

I've been kinda mooching around since I got up, doing the Sunday Slow Rise. It's been . . . different. Different is good, I'm told.

Breakfast was homemade whole wheat toast, cottage cheese, and grapes. Lunch will be I Have No Idea. I will say that my experiment of meatballs and red sauce over bread the other day proved that this concept, um, needs work. Sadly, I have meatballs and red sauce left over -- and absolutely no motivation to eat it.

As mentioned last night, the page proofs for the "anniversary" edition of I DARE (tradepaper, it says here, and I've written for confirmation that this is so), have landed. That's 433 pages and 16 days, which means I need to Absolutely Read 27 pages a day. I'll try for 50, because that will give me wiggle room, in case the sky falls and I can't read one day.

Because my office is in Middle of Book Chaos, I'll be setting the proofreading project up in Steve's office, which ought to confuse the cats, so that's worth doing.

So, recapping -- Today's to-do includes one's duty to the cats, finding something to eat for lunch, proofing 50 pages of I Dare, and, should there be time and brain power, writing new words.

How's your Sunday treating you?

Today's blog post title courtesy of Golden Earring, "Twilight Zone."

For rosebush fans, proof of life:

Sharon says: I think that these two installments by Steve Miller explain themselves pretty well. Back in the day, Cyberplane 1 and 2 won a web-writing award, the name of which escapes me at this distance. We were nicer to each other on the internet, back then.

#

This is the first issue of Cyberplane; it is a direct descendant of the old Paper Plane fanzine that I published when I lived at Apt 3A 119 Willow Bend Drive, Owings Mills, Md., 21117. In some ways I'm sorry that it's not appearing in the original format of a snailmailed, mimeographed personalzine....on the other hand I gave that device -- that mimeo machine -- away to some fans in deepest PA, where it may yet turn out crudsheets with every fourth crank of the handle.

So Cyberplane #1 comes to you via the web from Steve Miller, RR2, Box 4570, Winslow, ME 04901. LoCs (letters of comment) can be sent via email to kinzel@mint.net; additional issues will arrive webward from time to time, if anyone notices this issue. You CAN send stamps, though I'm not sure what the correct postage should be...This is a by whim production; there are no subscribers. Copyright 1995 by Steve Miller. The textured background is my own; I also make web pages....

....If none of that makes sense to you, perhaps I should mention that long ago and far away I was considered a science fiction fan. That was a technical term back when most science fiction was in books and magazines and fans were readers rather than watchers. Many, many fans were also writers, and some of the fans I dealt with have, like me, become "filthy pros" in one field of writing or another.

I have, alas, not given up many of my fannish ways. I still think of the year not in traditional holidays but in condays: April, BaltiCon and MiniCon weekend...also known as Easter. DisClave weekend, also known as Memorial Day to the uninitiated. And of course, WorldCon...frequently known as Labor Dayweek. Having been to something over 100 cons over the years my inclination to think in this fashion may perhaps be understood.

I also have kept many of my fannish odds and ends. My Kelly Freas caricature, my old x-rated issue of Holier Than Thou, many of my convention badges. And, of course, the illos sent to me by artists for the next issue of my fanzine. Original art!

Illo by Rotsler

I am not above the lure of the convention's song. I am, however, too cynical to enjoy sleeping on the floor in crash space; and too experienced to travel cross country on $6 a day with any degree of comfort. Once upon a time however....

#

Con-Fession of a Con-Addict

In the summer of 1973 the fannish world had a near miss. Not only did the famous Khoutek comet fail to mesmerize and astonish billions, it being one of the real duds of the 20th century, right up there with the Edsel, the Lisa, the Apple III, and the Commordore IV, but also I failed to attend my first "real" sf convention.

I'm not sure who lucked out: I was at Clarion West and rather than go out to the con (in Vancouver perhaps?) I spent my weekend working on my writing. Somehow I thought that was much more to the purpose, having traveled by bus from Baltimore to Seattle to attend a writing workshop, and not to sit around talking trash with a bunch of mere fans. Sigh. I was as opinionated then as I am now and with far less experience to back it up... And so my first convention didn't happen months after I returned from Clarion.

You can probably blame Sue Miller, who was then Sue Nice, for my first appearance at convention. She read Analog every month ( I read Amazing, Fantastic, and IF or one of it's brethren) and it wasn't unusual for us to stare at the con listings and wonder if we should go to one of these things. When it was apparent that I was actually going to get a job in the field...well, it was obvious that we needed to go to a convention. And since we'd missed BaltiCon that year, the first con we got to was DisClave.

I will not bore you with the entire details of the event; I couldn't, having mixed them up with so many other events that took place at the Sheraton Park. What struck me from the start, and what helped lead to my addiction, was that I was among readers -- lots of readers! -- who knew enough about the same things I did to agree with me -- or argue with me -- from a position of information. These people might LOOK weird, but they didn't think it odd that one might happen to pick up a book at 7 PM and put down the second or third book in the series at 6 AM just before going to work...

In short order I became involved in BSFS, the Baltimore Science Fantasy Society, and I became a con fan. I'd drop everything to run to Pghlange, and I'd go to anything dealing with SF at the Sheraton Park hotel...an edifice that could probably have been bought for a permanent worldcon home for the amount of money that fans spent there.

My involvement in fandom, and in convention fandom in particular, got to the point that I might begin a conversation with someone at a room party in, say, Kentucky, continue it the next week in say, Michigan, and finish it at a party in, say Ohio, three weeks later. Not only might I have these kinds of conversations, I faunched after them. I needed them.

The energy of conventions got in my blood; I found myself able and (all too!) willing to give directions to hotels and restaurants in Anne Arbor and Washington DC and Columbus (that's in Ohio and is one of the least visited cities in the US). I also found myself recognizing stretches of interstate 400 miles away from home from the last time I'd been there -- say three weeks before.

At the risk of sounding a bit like one of Andy Offut's convention speeches, there I was, a young man from the backwoods of Owings Mills, Maryland and I was not only going places, but I was doing things in those places and I was even welcomefar from home. This was all a bit of a surprise to me. So much so that I needed hints about which cheese to eat (and Joe Haldeman may still consider me uncouth for never having had feta cheese in my life at the time we happened to be at the same party at a con in Ann Arbor); but I came from a poor but boring background where I'd led a very sheltered life away from anything but the blandest and most Baltimore of foods.

I also discovered the unexpected lure of all night partying. As my involvement grew from wide-eyed innocent to WorldCon bidding insider I became more and more involved in the faanish side of things and less in the sercon (serious constructive) side of things. Oh, I still wrote my fiction and my book reviews, but I was not as likely to attend the inevitable "Universe Building" panel as I was to hit all of the open and and as many of the closed parties as I could.

Along the way, I lost my way. Some of the all night parties led to waking up in someone else's room. Some ended up with a quiet breakfast with someone I'd kissed for the first time three hours before. Some ended up merely prelude to a virtually sleepless weekend followed by a 20 hour crash when I got home. Work and homelife suffered....

And so by the time of the Miami worldcon my marriage was on the rocks; even as my father (who was living in Miami on a houseboat with a 19 year-old girlfriend) was telling me to "hang on to that girl", the former Sue Nice was plainly not long to be Mrs. Steve Miller. The world of the con and the mundane world are not meant to be lived simultaneously for long periods of time...

For a short while I used conventions to avoid being alone. Then, rather suddenly, my writing was selling, I was reviewing books for the Baltimore Sun, and my new position as editor of a weekly community newspaper made conventions harder to get to.

This is a work in progress...thanks for your understanding-- Try Steve Miller If you haven't had enough you can try number 2 in the series

What went before ONE: And back from dancing. I was the New Kid. It was interesting and everyone was good-natured and very kind. I may have been the only one in the room who had never had theater or dance in my background, and I include the two Littles who were part of our group.

I notice a cross-over between ASL and some of the "body-speak" going on in dance. I suppose if I pursue it, I'll have yet another physical language under my belt.

I got to interact, very briefly, with the bowli ball's older, bigger, and more sullen brother. It was too big and goopy to perform the antics of an actual bowli ball. Instead of a gyroscope heart, it had a -- what? bag of mud -- that made for interesting shifts of velocity, weight, and ... squishiness. Not good for tournament play, but an interesting item nonetheless.

After class, I went down Main Street a bit, stopped at Incense and Peppermints to see what they're doing with the increased space, then Smitty's Book Cellar to introduce myself and give out a couple cards.

I grabbed some pretzels when I got in, but I think that's not quite lunch, so a salad it is.

The temperature has cracked 60F/16C; still cloudy and mizzling, off and on.

I hear through the dance class that next Saturday is World Tai Chi Day. Who's participating?

What went before TWO: 830ish new words, which means! The WIP has cracked 30,000! +/-30,250. Pretty good for a day when I thought I wouldn't be writing.

Defrosting some Smithfield boneless pork chops for tomorrow's making-ahead, and also lunch.

The cats have had Happy Hour and Trooper wished to Take Exception to my coming back to the keyboard to finish the scene, so we had to have That Discussion again -- the one that makes no sense? About how the clackity-clack on the keys makes cat food? Yeah, that one. He did lay down and go to sleep though, and I finished my scene. So there is that.

Everybody stay safe; I'll see you tomorrow.

Sunday. Intermittently cloudy and not. Breezy with gusts. Weatherbeans have put out a fire caution; calling for a high temp of 50F/10C. It rained on the overnight.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs with potato and onion, and a side of toast with blueberry-ginger jam, which was actually a bigger breakfast than I usually indulge in, so lunch plans may be adjusted accordingly.

This is Easter Sunday for those who celebrate. When Steve and I first got together, we celebrated by going to BaltiCon. Afteryears, Easter usually snuck up on us. We had the Convention Calendar in our heads and could mostly tell you which cons were on any given weekend, but Easter? Eh--a moveable lay (i.e. non-SF) feast that didn't have much to do with us.

For those who are interested in cat placement, Trooper is at the moment sitting upright on my lap, purring, and making it easy for me to type. Rook is sprawled at the end of the desk, apparently chewing on the philosophical conversation we had this morning, when he found Tali already in my lap when he wanted to be there. How is it possible that I love him for being The Best Rookie AND Tali for being The Best Tali? This wants Thinking Over.

Second cup of tea brewing.

After I finish my morning letter to the internets, I have some stuff to do downstairs, and then I intend to catch up on all those things I failed to do last week by reason, I guess, of doing other things instead. And do my first pass through the ASL homework.

Directing my gaze into next week -- there's another movie-and-learned-discourse on Monday night; the movie is "Brick." I may or may not attend. The movie looks interesting, but I have a limited capacity for leaned discourse on the Metaphors of Violence in Cinema.

On Wednesday, my new washer-and-dryer will be delivered, and the sales rep directed me to save up my dirty clothes and start washing the minute the delivery van cleared the driveway, because there's a 48-hour, if-it's-wrong-we'll-make-it-right-today LG policy IF the wrong is reported within 48 hours. So! Laundry Party at Rolanni's House! Bring snacks.

Thursday evening is of course ASL class. Before that is the Return of the Pest Control Guy, who will be replacing the things he knocked down during his inspection two weeks ago.

I have started reading The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne (by Ron Currie, a Maine author) and in-between am re-reading Sea Wrack and Changewind (by Sharon Lee, another Maine author). Not sure why I got started on that, except it was at my place when I sat down to eat lunch a couple days ago, and one must read something.

My redecorated office door looks very nice in the sunshine. Very glad I decided to take that on.

And that? Is what's doing at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

What's doing at your place?

Today's blog title brought to you by Journey, "Wheel in the Sky"

Cat census and redecorated office door:

What went before ONE:  And! Finished reading. My text for today was Accepting the Lance.

I now want to sleep for five days, but that's not going to happen, so instead I will open the SFWA past president survey that I foolishly agreed to answer, right after I serve Happy Hour.

I'm looking at my weekly Get These Things Done calendar, and, yeah -- MAYbeeee...Friday?

Everybody stay safe. I'll see you tomorrow.

What went before TWO:  Wow. Started to work for SFWA as first! full! time! executive director in 1997; elected vice president in 2001; president in 2002.

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Thursday. Sunny and warmish. House has been picked up for Ashley.

I am a tired woman, part X of a continuing series.

Breakfast was oatmeal with cranberries, because I'm tired, and it was there. Lunch will be, um? Oh. Turkey fillets defrosting in the fridge; they may be ready. If not, there's still that yam the affections of which I've been toying with for a week.

Tonight is ASL class -- first of the second semester. I do not feel prepared, ref "tired" above, but, yanno -- onward.

One of the things I suspect of contributing to feeling tired is that some people are reading Diviner's Bow and have Just! Learned! through the magic of reading the back flap of the hardcover, that Steve has died. Some are writing to express their condolences, which is very nice of them, but the weight of other people's emotions is exhausting.

I've got an expanding file of stuff that I need to go through, and throw away the things I no longer need, so I'll be doing that while Ashley's here.

I'm probably not going to get any new writing done today, though I do have two handwritten scenes I should transcribe. My handwriting's not so bad as my shorthand -- reading cold shorthand is a real challenge, just one down from trying to read somebody else's shorthand -- but I really should type it before I forget what on earth I was thinking.

It's not supposed to rain today, so I might just take the throw rugs outside and hang them over the deck railing to get some fresh air and sunshine.

I'm reading Check and Mate, which is set in the World of Chess, book provided by a kind friend who wanted to know how accurate the representation of said Chess World is. So far -- I'm about halfway through -- and it seems pretty accurate to me, remembering that all of my "familiarity" with said World came at second and third hand. Certainly, the misogyny is accurate; Steve kept trying to recruit girls/women to his chess club down in Maryland, but it remained a guys-only environment. The passion is also accurate -- yes, you can Win! Big! Money! playing chess, but like, oh, writing, or tournament golf, or other endeavor where passion is a necessary component to even minor success -- the return is far, far less for most than the investment. All that said, it was a minor shock to see Judith Polgar mentioned, as I knew somebody who knew somebody who knew the Polgar sisters. OTOH, they certainly belong in a book discussing the Chess World and the limited access thereto.

FWIW, Steve threw a guy out of a tournament for wearing a tshirt that said, "Woman chess player is an oxymoron." So there was that.

And that's what I've got this morning.

What've you got this morning?

Today's blog post title brought to you by Boston, "Rock & Roll Band"

Oh. For those wondering what in heaven's name the woman was *doing* yesterday, that would be this:

Before we get started, a Shout Out:  Karen Rix Krah, if you are within the sound of my voice, please email me!  Thanking you...

What went before:  Boy, that sweet potato was good. One of the "Japanese" sweet potatoes, with the purplish skin and the white flesh.

I am currently rearranging the drawers in the pantry so I can centralize my baking stuff, and get to it more easily.

When Steve got taken with the need to rearrange things, or clean the house, he would say, "I'm writing -- no, really I am." And it did more often than not turn out that, next day, or that night, he'd be hitting the keyboard.

So, yanno -- I'm writing.

Rook came out to the dining room to eat a few crunchies and keep me company. He's gone back to the jetpak in the living room. Tali and Trooper are in my office with me, and Firefly is spending the day in Steve's office.

Some Hours Later:  OK, the pantry makes more sense to me now, in re having all the most-used baking things in one accessible drawer instead of some way over my head, some more way down there, and the rest at waist level.

Firefly and Tali were having a game of tag -- not sure where Tali is at the moment. Rook is playing with his robot mouse. Trooper is on the co-pilot's chair with interested ears, trying to figure out What That Kid Is Doing without, yanno, actually getting up and looking.

Sunday

The Early Report: The cats woke me at 6, according to the bedroom clock, which I'll need to change later. It was of course 7 and probably they've done me a favor, but I'm not feeling the love at the moment.

First cup of tea in hand, and I in my robe am sitting in the comfy office chair under a heated blanket, blinking owlishly at the sun rising over the Long Back Yard.

Oof.

Can we just choose one, please?

Later: Sunday. Sunny and chilly. Going to make a sprint for 40F/4C. So say the weatherbeans.

I did sit in the comfy chair, under the heated throw, for an hour, drinking my tea, and staring out the window, which I intend to recommence shortly after I finish writing this dispatch to the internets.

Breakfast was pb&j on an English muffin. Second cup of tea at hand. Lunch will be chicken and veggies. (Though I don't usually report on the evening meal -- last night I had a grilled cheese sandwich and It. Was. Awesome.)

I've stripped the bed and have made the Command Decision to retire the flannel sheets for the season. So, that's A Thing.

And -- always aside from one's duty to the cats, and of course, remaking the bed -- that may be all Real Life gets out of me today. I have got to fix this damn' timing issue, or order in another barrel of handwavium. Or, yanno, both. Can't have too much handwavium in Da Biz.

How's everybody feeling today?

Bonus: For the folks wondering if I've "grown accustomed." TED talk from Nora McInerny.  It's short, and in my admittedly limited experience, accurate.

Today's blog post title brought to you by the sainted Mr. James Thurber:  The Thirteen Clocks, which, if you haven't read it -- do that.  No, I mean now.

What went before:  Yesterday went from bad to worse, and I took a couple hours out in the afternoon to sip hot chocolate and stare out the window, then watch Rook play with his robot mouse.  This toy had terrified him as a baby kitten, but yesterday, he deliberately knocked it off the shelf where it has been rusticating for months, and tried kicking it up and down the hall, so I turned it on and let it run until the charge failed.  He had a great time with it, and knew immediately to pick it up by its tail and get it into a open run space when it got (as it frequently does) stuck in a corner.

Wednesday. Sunny and cold.

Breakfast was hummus, naan, apple sauce. Something will leap out of the fridge for lunch, I'm sure.

First thing, I need to talk to somebody about a Confusion of Rights, to which I hope they have a definitive answer. Files under Why Writers Drink.

After my phone call, and hopefully armed with Answers, I need to write a letter. Then, I will be going over the damned tax packet *again* and if all looks good will be delivering it to the accountant's office, and from there to the grocery to take on food and wine.

I got up early (after 7.30 hours of sleep; someone was concerned that I was not getting enough rest with all these early hours. The fact is that getting up early begets going to bed early, and I, a lifelong Night Person, am now apparently a Day Person, something I'm not particularly happy about, but here we are.), and have already written one letter, so progress is progressing.

Way back when the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory was still in its Country Location, I discovered that there's a Life Limit on how much coffee one person can imbibe, and, what with years of mainlining the stuff, I had hit that limit. That was when I switched to tea, and Steve, after watching in Stark Terror every time I poured boiling water from a saucepan into a mug (and pretty often over the countertop, too), bought me an OXO Stainless Steel Whistling Tea Kettle with a Geniune Cork Covered Handle.

I love the OXO tea kettle, but it, like me, is starting to show its age, and I thought to get another (because, honest, if me pouring boiling water out of saucepan into a mug was scary ten years ago, it's only gotten worse. Even *I* get short of breath when I do it.). OXO of course, does not make this tea kettle any more, and I wound up with a Mr. Coffee Whistling Tea Kettle, and may I just say? What a piece of junque. I mean, yes, I'm spoiled; we've discussed this, and Steve always bought The Best, whether we could afford it or not -- but Mr. Coffee has not achieved a 10 year tea kettle.

On the other hand, given the on-gong axe-work against society and human beings, 10 years may not be something I have to worry about.

Below, another photo from last night -- you can see that Tali and Firefly have Made An Accommodation -- Firefly on *her* side against my hip, and Tali on *her* side, from hip to knee.

It was all very comfortable.

What makes you comfortable, lately?

Today's title brought to you by Ray Wylie Hubbard, and there's a story that goes with that.  I remembered the line about the night people's job being to take the day people's money, but not the title of the song.  I asked the internet, which served me up "Rabbit" which was not the song I'd been thinking of, but which I like on its own terms.  A little more digging got me the song I was after, "Nighttime."

Many cat pictures below.  I note that Tali and Firefly are working out the evening reading positions.

What went before:  Yesterday, as I was staring out the window, my brain informed me that it wanted to write an epistolary Liaden novel.  I pointed out that we couldn't do that, because we were going back to Catalinc Station and the Action! folks, who -- while they can write letters -- really prefer not to.

Recommencing with the staring out the window, it -- finally, some will say -- dawned on me that while Diviner's Bow and Book the Next are -- ahem -- "unrelated" novels, there's a character who is leaving the traders and headed for the Station. And that this character not only knows All The Players -- he corresponds with them. And the Action folk do write back to him.

I don't usually like to think about Structure this early in a project (which may be why my first drafts always end up with everything happening on Tuesday afternoon), and I can't in fairness to the action players have a book that is only letters, but I can use the letters to frame and illuminate the action.

And that? Sounds like fun, which none of the other things I've been slinging at the wall, looking for a conceit that will bear a novel, have done.

Also, the letter structure may give me room to do A Thing I wanted to do and shelved, because I couldn't figure out how to make it fit into a novel set on the Station.

All that being said, I resolved to Sleep On It, and if it seemed good in the morning, I'd go forward.

Going forward!

Friday. Grey and chilly. 'beans are calling for a high of 36F/2C, following yesterday's deep freeze.

Breakfast was leftover fried rice. I don't have one clue what lunch will be.

Today's Big Ticket To-Do List item is Trooper's vet appointment. He's been ... off ... with many many complaints, so either I'm providing really subpar service or something's up. I worry; he's 15, and he's outlived both his childhood sweetheart, and their daughter.

Speaking of cats. Negotiations have taken a major step forward. I'm awaiting a call from the escort, and it could -- could! -- be that the new director will be with us on Monday. This will require some finagling in and around the Greater Portsmouth NH Megalopolis, and thus we await that call from the escort, with deets.

The Hybrid Epistolary Novel still sounds good to the me, so! Next step is to open a file and start writing.

That's all I've got; hours spent staring out the window don't make for a riveting narrative.

What's your riveting narrative for the day?

Below, a "memory" offered up by the photo app on the phone.  Sprite and Steve, sharing a moment.

What went before: Still not finished the story, but! I feel much better about the story as a whole. It's a rare wonder what the Active Voice will accomplish. I know I keep saying this, but! Maybe I'll finish it tomorrow.

Saturday. Sunny and the 'beans are calling for a high of 24F/-4C.

Breakfast was eggs scrambled with ham, cheese, onions, and toast. Kettle's on for my second cup of tea. Lunch will be chili.

Today I'm working on the story, but, also! I intend to bake French bread this weekend. I was going to get into making bread every week, but the Lightning Turnaround on Diviner's Bow, followed by getting sick, twice, kind of threw those rosy plans into the bin.

This recipe is a little tricky because you have to make the poolish the night before and let it rest overnight at "room temperature." Overnight "room temperature" here at the Confusion Factory is 60F/16C, which is a little cool for dough, and of course the silly electric stove doesn't have a pilot light (yes, yes, still bitter about having to give up my lovely propane stove). I guess I'll just cover it and set it in the microwave to rise.

Assuming all goes well, and the poolish rises as should, this will be the inaugural use of the baking stone. I really hope I can pull this off; the batards I made at King Arthur Flour school were amazing, and I've been wanting more ever since I ate the last slice.

I also have a recipe for oatmeal blueberry lemon breakfast muffins that I'm wanting to try, but not today. I need to seek clarity of the differences between the "quick-cooking rolled oats" called for in the recipe and the Red Mill Old Fashioned Rolled Oats which is the household go-to.

Yeah, looks like I'm pretty much back online.

Those who follow the writing schedule should be aware that the deadline for the book after Diviner's Bow (deadline=when I am to turn the book in) is April 15, 2026. This means there will probably not be a new Liaden book in 2026 (unless Baen opts to do the Lightning Thing again). I'm sorry about that, but I really need to protect my brain, which, aside the coon cats, is the Number One resource of the House.

Regarding The Big Cat Hunt -- there is a cat show this weekend, so planning is on hold until next week. Watch the skies.

I think that's all I've got.

What's on the books for you this weekend?

Oh, hey, let's do the Time Warp, again.  Sharon Lee at Boskone 45. Photo by Steve Miller.